


Fear

by Need2Scream



Category: Transformers, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, No pairings - Freeform, war buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22060534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Need2Scream/pseuds/Need2Scream
Summary: “I considered that,” Prowl answered softly. “But in all their interactions with the Prime there is indeed nervousness, but they’re not afraid. I have seen awe, respect, devotion, and nervousness with all the other officers, but they fear me.”
Relationships: Jazz & Prowl
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reposting some of my oneshots from FF.net to Archive. So if you've read my Transformers stuff over there, this is the same Need2Scream. 
> 
> For new readers, hello! I will point out straight out the gate that I use more organic character designs for my TF fiction so Prowl's wings are more like actual bird wings that can support him in flight and not doorwings like we get in the comics.

Jazz watched Prowl as he frowned at a datpad two tables over.

Jazz was certain the Praxian wasn’t reading. He hadn’t moved his optics in more than a breem but they still flickered as if he was reviewing something troubling. He’d had the same look on his face for almost a septorn now.

Blaster slid into the spot next to Jazz at the dispensary table. “Ya’ know, if you say his name three times while looking in a dark mirror he’ll just appear behind you and ya’ won’t have ta’ stare like that.” 

Jazz elbowed him and rolled his optics. “Quit bein’ an aft,” he said with a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Somethin’s bothering him.” His humor waned. Not even on the trickiest of plans had he seen Prowl worry over something so long. 

“Gettin’ low on virgin sacrifices again,” Blaster said solemnly. “Heard Hatchet talkin’ about it, looks like we’re gonna have to go back to small animals ‘til the new shipment comes in.” He started cackling when Jazz rubbed between his optic ridges in exasperation.

Blaster was still giggling when Jazz said, “I’ma see what the actual problem is.” He flicked Blaster’s head before getting up and heading over to Prowl’s empty table.

Prowl didn’t look up until Jazz was almost in front of him. Jazz lifted an optic ridge and Prowl returned the look with a faint smile. “Good morning, Jazz.”

Jazz sat down and leaned forward on his forearms staring hard into Prowl’s optics. “Spill,” he ordered. Prowl blinked and tilted his head to the side a trace of confusion in his optics but his attention wasn’t the hyper-focus Jazz was used to. Usually when he looked into Prowl’s optics he felt like he was lying on an operating berth, all of his internals on display, every errant thought heard. He frowned the longer he and Prowl sat in silence. “I’m sorry, Prowler,” he said at last, sitting back. More confusion clouded Prowl’s optics and some of the razor focus returned skittering over Jazz’s armor. “I knew somethin’ was bothering you, but I didn’t know it was that bad. So talk.”

Prowl’s wings drew back and then dropped, abashed. “I had no idea my preoccupation had become so embarrassingly obvious. I’m sorry, Jazz. It is nothing.” His wings settled, not in their usual regal arch but closer to his shoulders like blankets or additional protection. Jazz shook his head.

“Nope, not scootin’ outta it, Prowler. I should’ve fraggin’ cornered you a few orns ago but with everything goin’ on with Omega sector I figured it was that.” He steepled his fingers under his chin like Ratchet did when he was waiting for a patient to break and admit all of their symptoms and ails. Prowl’s wings drew a little closer to him. It was such an insecure gesture Jazz rebooted his optics to make sure he was seeing correctly. Prowl set his unread datpad to the side and looked at Jazz. 

Finally, the laser scalpel focus returned and went over every inch of Jazz’s frame before returning to his optics. “I just…” He looked away again and then sighed, his wings completely draping over his shoulders. “Last septorn, I passed that party Blaster threw and…I almost ran into Cliffjumper. It wasn’t anything unusual, just the two of us rounding a corner at the same time, but he looked so frightened.” Prowl’s attention lost its invasiveness and his optics wandered to a point over Jazz’s shoulder. “It was like he’d run into Megatron himself. I apologized, but…he started listing these reasons for why he was in the halls at that joor of the night and said he was on his way back to his quarters and he wouldn’t be late for his shift the next orn. He was almost in a panic.” Old confusion tinged with sadness colored his blue-white optics a darker shade of blue. “I know not long after that the party ended abruptly and for two orns after that everyone was…skittish.” His wings closed tighter around him and he met Jazz’s optics once more. “And my preoccupation with that problem has led me to notice it was not a singular event. Any time someone has to speak with me they exhibit that same sort of panic.” His optics darkened another shade. “I don’t know what I’ve done to condition such behavior, so I’ve been reviewing all of my interactions as far back as I can remember to see what triggered it.” 

Jazz tilted his head to the side and leaned forward again. “Prowler, you’re second in this army, that’s a fraggin’ lot of authority right there. These mechs get nervous when they have to talk to Prime, too.” Prowl’s optics slid to the side again and became distant.

“I considered that,” Prowl answered softly. “But in all their interactions with the Prime there is indeed nervousness, but they’re not afraid. I have seen awe, respect, devotion, and nervousness with all the other officers, but they fear me.” His wings folded closer to him. Prowl was very aware of his terrible interpersonal skills. He’d tried to fix it, but unlike Jazz, he’d never been able to carry over the easy camaraderie he’d had on the frontlines. Even then, when they’d all been grunts, he’d been private to the point of being aloof. Unlike then, the mechs onboard the Ark didn’t get to see Prowl in a melee fight with ‘cons to get them to drop their reservations. The mechs onboard only knew Prowl as SIC.

They sat in silence for a breem, Jazz trying to think of a new angle on the problem while Prowl fell back into his dejected musings. The empty platitudes he might have used on another mech wouldn’t work with Prowl. And he couldn’t do that to the mech. They’d been closer than brothers on the frontlines. And more orns than he’d admit, he missed their time together, even if it had been constantly shadowed by death. 

Behind him, a mech coughed politely. The limited infrared scanners he had along his spinal strut sketched out the rough outline of Blaster. “’Sup ma’ mech?” he asked halfway turning in his chair. Prowl’s wings unfolded a bit, leaving their vulnerable position to something closer to ‘Just Thinking’. 

Unlike the cheeky mech that had greeted him earlier, Blaster stood at parade rest with hands behind his back. “We’re scheduled on the bridge in a few breems,” he said softly in formal Iax. Jazz tilted his head to the side and watched Prowl while he went over his own memories of when he saw mechs talking to their SIC. It was no secret Blaster wasn’t particularly keen on rules, but he was always the picture of obedience when Prowl was near. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe broke the rules no matter what, but when Prowl was around they did settle a bit. Beachcomber and Groove also lost most of their laid back lingo when talking to Prowl and spoke with short clipped sentences. 

“I’ll meet ya’ up there,” he said, not looking away from Prowl.

The Praxian closed his optics for a second and then drew himself back from his wanderings and his wings lifted to their formal arches. “No, it’s all right. I have work I must tend to as well.” He glanced at Blaster and since Jazz was focused on him, he felt the flashy red and gold mech still completely. Standing up, Jazz gave Blaster a smile but the mech kept his focus on a distant point over Prowl’s head. Like a petrorabbit cornered by a turbo fox. Prowl’s too dark optics lowered again and he stood from the table. “Good orn, Jazz.” 

In the hallway, Blaster shook off his stiff formality. “Pretty sure we’re stuck with ‘Hide for the whole fraggin’ shift, what are we gonna do? He doesn’t know good music when he hears it at a couple hundred decibels,” he lamented. Jazz looked over his shoulder watching Prowl walk in the opposite direction. It wasn’t hard to follow his progress, there was a subtle parting of the crowd where he walked. Jazz had always contributed it to his wings, but now that he knew what he was looking for he saw it was less a sign of respect and more like a predator parting a school of fish.

“Blaster,” Jazz said, turning back around. “Does Prowl make you nervous?”

Blaster barked a laugh. “Jazzmech, Megatron makes me nervous; Prowl makes my fraggin’ tanks churn just seein’ those wings in the hall.” Blades walking by, laughed outright.  
Jazz stopped in shock. “What? Why? You’re really that afraid of him?” Blaster stopped with him giving him an incredulous look.

“Frag yes! It’s those fraggin’ optics, mech.” He shuddered. “When he stares at ya’ it’s like he’s tryin’ to figure out the easiest way to drag your spark out.” He hopped from one foot to the other with a squeal. “I ain’t talkin’ about it anymore, it’s makin’ my plates rattle.” He started walking again and Jazz followed after a few seconds several paces slower. His spark hurt and his processor was scolding him. He was XOps, his job was to read mechs and figure out what they were thinking before they knew it themselves. And he’d missed this. He’d missed the crew becoming so afraid of Prowl they didn’t like walking past him in the hallway. 

He stared at his feet until he reached the bridge. Cosmos sat at the helm humming tunelessly while he tapped screens and adjusted a dozen different instruments. Ironhide sat in the copilot seat, shrewd optics focused on whatever was scrolling across his screen. Huffer and Cliffjumper sat in navigation with a star chart up bickering about the distance of something. Blaster plopped himself down in his usual spot at communications with a tired huff. Jazz looked over the mechs in the room again and landed on Cliffjumper. 

He didn’t realize he was staring until the trigger-happy mech was glaring at him. “Lose somethin’ over here?” he snapped. Cliffjumper had drawn Prowl’s attention to the problem, but Jazz had an awful feeling in his spark Cliffjumper had just forced Prowl to notice something he’d already suspected.

Jazz blinked and blurted out. “Are you afraid of Prowl?” Not his most tactful moment and Cliffjumper, Huffer, Cosmos, and Ironhide all turned to look at him like he’d glitched. “Like…honestly afraid of him, not just because he’s Prime’s second?”

“Jazzmech, what is your glitch?” Blaster asked with his head tilted all the way to one shoulder. Jazz ignored him. Vorns of practice kept the hurt in his spark off his face as he waited for Cliffjumper’s answer

The red mech stared at him in bewilderment for a second and then puffed himself up. “That pit-spawn,” he snorted. “You’re the only one not smart enough to run when you see ‘im.” Then he blinked and looked at Jazz warily. “You’re not gonna tell ‘im I said that are you?” Huffer waited to see Jazz’s reaction before nodding in agreement with Cliffjumper’s words. 

Cosmos returned his attention to the controls. “He is…unsettling,” he said with his quiet voice. Jazz fought back a keen of pain. How long had he been ignoring what was happening on his own ship?  
“Unsettling,” Huffer giggled. “Pretty sure everyone on this ship sees those optics in their nightmares.” He shuddered and Blaster covered his audios. And with that he knew this wasn’t something Prowl had just noticed, he’d seen it a while ago and in his own way he tried to spare Jazz the stigma. Duty kept them from spending as much time together as they used to, but Prowl had intentionally put distance between them.

“Already told him I wasn’t talkin’ about this anymore,” Blaster said loudly. He cued up some music and Ironhide glared at him. The old mech Jazz was certain wasn’t afraid of Prowl but there was wariness in his optics.

“What’s that question got to do with anything?” his rusted voice asked. Jazz sat down next to Blaster with pain in his spark that felt like it might crack it in half. He stared at the console sightlessly. He resisted tracking Prowl down. The Praxian would only be embarrassed if Jazz tried to publicly apologize. He couldn’t yell at the crew because that would only make them more afraid.

He’d never been afraid of Prowl, although, he’d met the Praxian while they were up to their hip joints in Decepticons so there hadn’t been time to be frightened of anything else. He hadn’t thought any of them would get out alive. But Prowl had been so calm, so certain. On any other orn, the plan he’d come up with might’ve been considered glitched at best, but it was all they had. Prowl had gotten their units out of that mess alive. If the crew knew Prowl, not SIC Prowl, but the young adult Jazz had known they wouldn’t be afraid. Prowl was…timid in social situations, but give the mech a rifle or a couple blades and he was a force of nature.

The crew didn’t know that, though. They were all so young and Prowl was hardly ever on the frontlines now, spending all of his time with either the Prime or Tactical Command. All they saw was the Prowl that was awkward and anxious. The Prowl that fell back on formality because it was a structure he knew and could follow.

Blinking, he cued up a channel on the network. Blaster glanced with only mild interest as he searched his own channels for some new tunes. The signal bounced twice before it reached its target and a scarred Polyhexian face appeared on his screen. “Jazzy,” Anchor greeted with a gap-toothed smile. “What trouble you in this orn?” Jazz smiled in genuine delight. He didn’t get to talk to his old unit buddies often anymore. And he felt another vicious stab of guilt and pain in his spark. He talked to the Ark crew all the time and while he missed his old buddies, he’d found new ones. Outside of himself, Jazz didn’t think Prowl spoke with anyone outside of working joors. 

“Not in trouble yet, but I’m workin’ on some,” he said with a fanged grin hiding the pain. Anchor’s coarse laugh got Ironhide’s attention and he turned around to glare at Jazz. Jazz ignored the look. “Anchor,” he said with a trace of seriousness. “I gotta weird question for ya’.” The demolition expert’s optics sparked with interest. “Were you ever afraid of Prowl?”  
Blaster made an exasperated sound. “Jazz! What. Is. Your. Problem? Drop it already,” he snapped. Anchor tilted his head when he heard the outburst but didn’t comment on it. His shrewd optics raked over Jazz’s frame and Jazz didn’t think he was hiding how he was feeling very well. 

“Frag no,” Anchor said bluntly. “As many times as he pulled my aft outta the fire, why the frag would I be afraid?” He leaned forward. “Remember when that heavy infantry had us pinned against that minefield?” Jazz let out a breathless laugh.

“Still makes my tanks churn thinkin’ about it.”

Anchor rubbed his optics. “After that, the only thing I was afraid of was we’d get sent out without him.” Despite Blaster’s irritation, the gossip hound in him had him tilting his head just enough to pick up every word and nuance of the conversation. Jazz grinned, not outwardly paying attention to the younger mech. 

“Yes, I do recall your tantrum when they notified your CO I would be transferring,” a quiet voice laced with amusement said behind Jazz. Jazz turned in his seat and found Prowl walking in with a stack of datpads. The room was already quiet, what with Ironhide being on duty, but as soon as he walked it the atmosphere stilled. Jazz knew Prowl had noticed but he continued on as if he hadn’t. Jazz dug his claws into a knee joint to keep from snapping at everyone.

“Prowler!” Anchor shouted, covering Jazz’s sudden mood change. “You glitch, when you gonna get your aft over ta this rock so we can have a drink?” Prowl’s wings flicked in amusement even though his face remained neutral. Cliffjumper and Huffer started and glanced from Prowl to the console like Megatron had just called to see if Prowl was free for dinner.

“Anchor, you are well aware if that happens we’ll both be under the table before sunrise,” Prowl responded, dropping one of the datpads next to Cosmos and the other next to Ironhide. Ironhide and Cosmos slowly turned to track Prowl as he walked back to Jazz. Blaster stared owlishly at Prowl.

“Why’s that a bad thing?” Anchor yelled, his coarse voice filled the silence of the bridge. He and Jazz laughed and the darkness in Prowl’s optics lifted a shade. Prowl came to stand next to Jazz. “Walk across any good mine fields lately?” Anchor asked.

Prowl’s wing brushed against Jazz’s back, a familiar habit from before Jazz had joined XOps and acquired his plethora of new sensors and scanners. Prowl’s wings were naturally sensitive to things like temperature change and air currents. Back when Jazz had nothing to rely on but his natural sensor net the added protection to his vulnerable back had been most welcome. “One is enough for a lifetime,” Prowl answered with a small smile. His wings relaxed a bit more, nothing completely informal, but less stiff. Jazz sat back and ran a hand down his side keeping clear of the sensitive joints between his wings and back.

“Ah that’s a shame,” Anchor said sitting back. “Need ta’ give these young mechs somethin’ to talk about. All I hear about nowaorns is medals, trophies, and upgrades to sensor nets.” Jazz mirrored his long suffering sigh and Prowl’s wing brushed against his back again. Jazz smiled softly at the touch and laughed with Anchor. “What happened ta’ the good ol’ orns when mechs came in off the field glitchin’ about Praxians walkin’ across minefields ta’ stop a heavy infantry unit?”

“Takin’ down a dropship with a rifle,” Jazz added wistfully.

“Shootin’ Megatron in the aft,” Anchor cackled. Jazz felt the rumble of Prowl’s irritated growl, but the sound didn’t have any heat.

“I would never do something so crass,” Prowl said lifting his chin. Anchor and Jazz both gave him a side optic. 

Jazz flicked his side, a half-smile still on his face. “Uh. Huh,” he said with heavy sarcasm. Prowl gave him a pointed look that had Anchor and Jazz laughing again. 

Anchor looked off screen with a wholly unimpressed expression. “Ah, break time’s over, sparklin’s are back from their field exercise.” Jazz snorted, Anchor could act the hardaft, but there was a fierce gleam of pride in his optics.

“I will get over to your rock soon, Anchor,” Prowl said softly, amusement still in his optics. His face looked a bit more relaxed even if he didn’t smile. 

Anchor lit a smoke stick and pointed it at the screen. “I’m holdin’ ya’ to that, Praxian.” Jazz said his farewell and they signed off.

“Ah, I miss that glitch,” Jazz said with a smile still tugging the corner of his mouth. A smile touched Prowl’s mouth as well and his optics were their usual ice blue. His wing brushed softly against Jazz’s shoulders when he turned to leave.

The bridge stayed silent for a full two breems while Jazz reclined in his seat with his hands behind his head, reminiscing. Blaster turned and checked the door and then scooted a little closer to Jazz. “Prowl really shot Megatron in the aft?” he whispered. 

Jazz’s laugh broke the tense silence and he sat up. “Wasn’t aiming for his aft,” Jazz said, still laughing. “He was up in a sniper nest—had the perfect shot—but that glitch Skywarp made him the second he pulled the trigger.” Jazz shrugged. “Would’a been nice if he’d actually killed the glitch, but ah, we got such a great story outta it. And there’s no way Starscream ever lets Buckethead forget it either.”

By third shift the ship was buzzing with the rumors of what Blaster had relayed from the bridge. Jazz moseyed through the halls listening to the buzz and a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. 

“You can’t take down a dropship with a fraggin’ rifle.”

“That’s what Blaster said the mech said.”

“Slag.”

“So let’s ask Wheeljack, he’ll know if you can do it.”

Jazz ducked around the group and turned down a quieter hallway where most of the officer quarters were located. He drummed his fingers against the door, an old habit from their frontline orns. The door opened a second later and Prowl gave him a faint smile but his optics were dark again. “Take a walk with me,” Jazz said. 

Prowl’s wings lowered a little. “Jazz, I’d rather not,” he said softly. Jazz stepped past the threshold and slid an arm around Prowl’s waist. The heavy alloy on his back was warm and familiar even though Prowl hadn’t dragged him off the field or out of the pub in a long, long time. 

“Come on, Prowler. When’s the last time we just went for a walk not as officers goin’ somewhere but two glitches bored outta their processors lookin’ for trouble.” Jazz rested his head on Prowl’s shoulder and the Praxian’s heavy wing slid across his shoulders, relaxing from their stiff formal arches to a more comfortable position.

“Since you’re being so adamant about this, can I assume you’ve already found trouble and are looking to remind me of our long friendship before I need to dole out your punishment?” But he leaned a bit more against Jazz.

Jazz laughed and held Prowl closer. It felt good to lean against Prowl like he used to, be it half a dozen drinks in at the pub or dozing off on a long flight. They didn’t have time like they used to, to sit and drink. He didn’t know what they’d complain about now since they were COs but he was certain they’d find some petty topic to argue into the early hours of the morning. “We really need to go see Anchor, just the two of us. See if we can get Snapshot over there, too.” Jazz gave Prowl a small tug and the Praxian moved to the door with him. Jazz slipped out first and Prowl followed, a smile started to tug his mouth.

“Snapshot, Anchor, and high grade. What could possibly go wrong?” he asked dryly. He didn’t protest when Jazz slid his arm around his waist again. To the others it would look scandalously intimate, but, putting an arm around Prowl’s shoulders was awkward with his wings. 

He leaned a little more against Jazz, his wings lowering a bit more until he looked like he had the first time Jazz saw him. His wings were heavier, completely filled out with alloy now instead of the narrow things they had been and his face had more scars, but his calm blue-white optics were unchanged. Jazz rested his head on Prowl’s shoulder, ignoring the pods of mechs sneaking glances or outright staring. “There’s nothing wrong with Snapshot, Anchor, and high grade,” Jazz argued. “Now, if it was Snapshot, Anchor, you, and high grade; then we’d have a problem.” 

A full smile lit Prowl’s face. “Even you said those were the best fireworks you’d ever seen.”

“They were mortar shells, and I was so charged I couldn’t remember my own name.” Jazz curled his fingers against Prowl’s hip when the Praxian laughed. His wing brushed across Jazz’s back, the long feathers cool and silky. More mechs and femmes stared when Prowl laughed, confusion scrunching their faces. Jazz felt Prowl tense and squeezed him once. “Where the frag did you even get those things?” Jazz asked.

The smile back on his face, Prowl said, “I don’t remember.” He laughed. “Neither does Anchor. Wherever it was though, I lost some feathers. My wings were horribly scraped and I couldn’t go to the medic because they would have known immediately what the wounds were from.”

“Primus, we did some stupid slag,” Jazz said. “Stupid, stupid things. And that’s only what we remember.” Prowl’s throaty laugh made him smile wider. They wandered through the halls, not as officers, but as friends arguing over details of battles long since finished and of nights out Jazz claimed to have no memory of. 

They circled back to Prowl’s quarters after most mechs were in their berths. Jazz stopped and gently held Prowl’s head between his hands. “Prowl,” he said softly. “You are my best friend; you’re my brother in ev’rything but spark. Doesn’t matter what happens, that will never change. I don’t care what anyone else says, I know you. And so help me, if you ever try to scoot me outta your life like you been doin’ I will thrash you from one side of this ship to the other.” 

Prowl blinked twice and Jazz saw him thinking about lying and then a chagrined grimace cracked the neutral mask. “I just didn’t want you—”

Jazz cut him off. “Yeah, I figured out they why and I don’t care.” His hands slid from his face down to his sides. “We have been through Pit and fire together—”

“You don’t like being socially isolated,” Prowl pointed out, stubborn as ever. “I don’t mind it. It’s usually best if I don’t have contact with many mechs since it—”

“There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely,” Jazz said with a scowl. And then his voice softened and the pain and guilt he’d felt earlier came roaring back. “And I missed it, and I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I haven’t been good to you, mech. I’m sorry.”

Prowl’s arms slid around his waist, hesitant, but he hugged Jazz tightly. “You have a great deal many things to worry about, Jazz. You haven’t been lax in anything.” Sighing because that tone of voice signaled that Prowl had well and truly dug his heels in Jazz tightened his hold on the Praxian.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured. Prowl held him a second longer instead of immediately stepping back and guilt drilled Jazz again. Prowl wasn’t very tactile, that he’d even initiated a hug and then not be the one to break it told Jazz more about the Praxian than words could. “You want me to stay?” he asked.

Prowl, reluctantly, let go of him. “No,” he said softly lacking his usual brusqueness. “I am meeting with the Prime early, well before you prefer to wake.” 

Jazz reached back and flicked his wing. “You know I’ll just roll over and fall back to recharge.”

“I’ll be fine,” Prowl said and Jazz put an arm around his waist finding himself a little reluctant to lose contact with him again. A rare full smile came across Prowl’s face. “I’d like to walk with you more, Jazz. I forgot how…calming it is.” Jazz gave him a squeeze and finally let him step into his room.

The next morning Jazz sat at his usual table with Blaster and a few other morning mechs. They were obviously—subtly—trying to pry more information about Prowl out of him. Jazz feigned ignorance enjoying their flailing as they tried to find questions to pull loose a stray detail.

Even if Jazz’s infrared hadn’t caught Prowl, the sudden dip in conversation would have told him the Praxian was approaching. Instead of the skittering fear from the orn before there was more timid curiosity as they watched the Praxian. Even at his table, the mechs watched Prowl torn between the fear they’d come to know and wanting to know the tantalizing half-stories they’d heard yesterorn. Jazz kept the grin off his face by willpower alone. 

Warm arms circled his shoulders, surprising him a little, but not so much he scared Prowl off. Silver wings folded down around him and Prowl’s head rested against his. Jazz tilted his head back and rubbed one of Prowl’s arms very surprised by the public contact. Concern flared momentarily in his mind. If he’d misjudged Prowl’s reaction the additional scrutiny he was under now might make his stress worse. Prowl’s arms tightened a little more. “Thank you,” he said softly. Not so soft the others at the quiet table in the now dead silent dispensary wouldn’t hear, but soft. 

Jazz closed his optics and let out a soft sigh of relief. “I told you a long time ago,” Jazz murmured matching his volume, “that I’d kill Primus if I had to.” He felt Prowl smile against his neck, a full smile few had ever seen much less felt.


End file.
